


The Façade

by thepilot



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Bodhi Rook - Freeform, Cassian Andor - Freeform, Halloween prompt, Historical AU, M/M, Masquerade Party, Mistaken Identity, late victorian era, mild violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-21
Updated: 2017-10-21
Packaged: 2019-01-20 13:53:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12434220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thepilot/pseuds/thepilot
Summary: Written for prompt day 3 of the 13 Days of Sniperpilot Halloween: Mistaken IdentityA masquerade. He hated to admit he was slightly intrigued by the idea. Perhaps he could do well by attending. If his disguise was good enough, he’d be able to corner the Baron and question him about his abuse and leave, completely undiscovered. No mention was made on the invitation about supplying costume descriptions.





	The Façade

**Author's Note:**

> I've set this story ambiguously in the late Victorian Era. I'd prefer not to give away the prompt before it happens. Oh, also? Bodhi is a Prince. Because he is. Always.  
> When I say castle, I mean more like Downton Abbey's Highclere Castle. So picture that.  
> The language isn't elevated or even close to period appropriateness. If I ever get bored and decide to revisit this, I may fancy it up.

High society, it seemed, had a party for everything. As the Prince Bodhi Rook opened his morning letters in his study, he was not at all surprised to see an invitation to a masquerade ball. The Baron von Krennic seemed to enjoy showing off his wealth, and this particular event was to celebrate the one-year anniversary of his newly constructed castle’s completion date.

The Prince, who generally kept to himself, left his London flat at the insistence of a friend to view the castle during its construction phase, originally signing on as a key donor. Not more than an hour’s walk into his tour of the castle did the Prince witness the atrocities being committed with the labor, and had faked illness to leave. Furthermore, once returning to his flat, he’d managed to convince the Baron that a family tragedy had occurred, and had even gone so far as to leave the country entirely, abandoning all communication with the Baron.

Wealth and lineage seemed to be about as shifting as the weather. The Prince was still not entirely sure how he’d managed to earn his title, aside from a note and a large sum of money being delivered one stormy summer night to the boys home he lived in some ten years ago. He’d immediately sought out professional help, but everything in the note had proven to be legit. The wealth, and title, were indeed his. With no family to call his own, he’d given himself over to boarding school and a proper education. He’d learned how to be a gentlemen, and had only come in to the Baron’s circle these past few years.

The Prince had hired a mentor early on, someone to help him through his new life. He’d been kept away from society, away from gossip and damaging tongues. On the Prince’s 25th birthday, he’d finally been introduced, and no one, it seemed, dared question the title of the copper skinned prince with the kindly and humble disposition.

The true upbringing of the man, and his view of high society from both the outside and inside had stirred in him a passion for doing right. He donated not only his money, but frequently his time to various projects he was constantly in pursuit of. When the eager Prince learned of a new castle being constructed, boasting of providing employment by means of labor to an otherwise downtrodden town, he was more than willing to visit. But it seemed that the Prince was not the only one to notice all was not right with the castle: students and activists protested the castle’s construction and the abuse of the workers.

“What do you think, Kay? Should I go?” His cat, as was typical, remained uncaring and unmoved from his position on his special footstool beside the fireplace. The Prince sighed, turning the invitation over and over in his hand. A masquerade. He hated to admit he was slightly intrigued by the idea. Perhaps he could do well by attending. If his disguise was good enough, he’d be able to corner the Baron and question him about his abuse and leave, completely undiscovered. No mention was made on the invitation about supplying costume descriptions.

Picking up his small silver bell, the Prince called his butler in to the room.

__________________________________________________________________________

It seemed that the Prince was not the only one in London who was seeking out a costume for the masquerade, so he’d abandoned the high street and resorted to finding the shop that looked like it needed the money the most. After purchasing the fabric himself, and insisting the shopkeeper take a 75% tip plus all of the extra material, he’d managed to construct an 18th century French Court costume. The whole ensemble consisted of a frock made of gold bullion floral brocade with matching britches, a dark teal vest, fine white wool tights, and satin heels. He’d also asked especially for a cape. He knew it didn’t exactly go with the costume, but when he’d found the pure white silk satin in the same shop with the brocade, he couldn’t pass it up.

Presently, slender fingers adjusted the silver mask resting on an already sweaty brow. The carriage rocked and clicked along the cobblestone up the drive, the Prince already catching glimpses of the guests walking up the lavish steps. Sparkling gowns, frock coats in all colors, wigs, and crowns. All this, set against the backdrop of the castle, made bile rise in his throat. As his carriage finally made it through the queue, he did his best to feign interest in the smiles and nods he received from those also entering with him. A few whispers accompanied his name being read by the footman who took his invitation.

_“Prince? He’s a prince? Where did he come from?”_

He ignored them all. As he entered the great hall, he was unfazed by what he saw. A string quartet in the corner, a dozen or so people partaking in a dance, and others sprinkled about the room with slender glasses filled with too little liquor to take the edge off of the nigh. A few heads snapped his way when he entered, but he was certain it was because they did not immediately recognize him.

As predicted, the Baron had not yet made his grand entrance, and so the Prince meandered about the room, making small talk with some of the guests and politely declining to dance. Some time passed, and the frivolity of it all, the façade, made the Prince almost forget his mission as he found himself always edging towards an exit. Grabbing a glass of champagne, he decided instead to at least find a place to catch his breath and clear his mind.

Couples hid in dark corners and doorways, the occasional giggle or moan giving them away. The Prince really had no idea where he was going, but he was thankful to have made his way to the gardens, finding them completely abandoned. Or so it seemed. A roar erupted from within the castle, and it seemed that the Baron had finally made his entrance. Finally.

A fountain in the garden allowed for the Prince to check his costume. He didn’t care about how he looked so much as he cared about how the costume looked. The man that had made it for him had worked so hard, he felt pride in being able to wear it. Making a few adjustments, he steeled himself to the task at hand: getting the baron alone.

As the Prince made his way back to the festivities, he loomed near one of the high entryways so as to spot the Baron first before calculating his next move. It seemed like the Baron was nowhere to be found. The Prince adjusted his cape on his shoulders, readying himself to find the man of the hour, when-

_Smack!_

The Prince collapsed to the floor, whipping off his mask and holding his now bleeding nose as he looked into the eyes of his assailant.

“You’re…you’re not…” the man stuttered as he dropped to the Prince’s side. If he hadn’t been in excruciating pain, not to mention bleeding, he would’ve been more than happy to make the man’s acquaintance. He barely took in the soft brown eyes, subtle stubble and messy brown hair before passing out entirely.

When the Prince finally came to, his ears first picked up the gentle trickle of the fountain before his eyes fluttered open to the stars above. A hand was holding a handkerchief to his still sore nose, while another was stroking his hair. He realized his head was comfortably resting in someone’s lap. He tilted his head back to see the same face of the man that had hit him. The face smiled, and the Prince couldn’t help but smile back.

“I’m really sorry I hit you. It’s just…I thought you people coordinated your outfits better. You know the Baron was wearing the same cape? When I saw you from behind I thought you were him. I’m sorry.”

“We don’t…I’m not…You meant to hit the Baron? Why would you do that?” The Prince realized that came out far more concerned than he had intended. If he’d gotten the chance, he’d have probably struck him, too. The man’s face quickly hardened, and he stopped stroking the Prince’s hair.

“My parents worked for the Baron. They were laborers for him, for this castle. They fell ill, and I was forced to take their place. The things they made me do…” the man drifted off sadly.

“No, I know. I saw. Everything. I wanted to do something. But I didn’t. I wasn’t brave enough. So I decided tonight, tonight I was going to make a difference. Tonight I was going to do something about it.” The Prince paused to chuckle. “And then you punched me in the face.” The man started laughing as well, making a final examination of the Prince’s nose before helping him sit up.

“I’m Cassian Andor. And I’ll forever be sorry for striking such a beautiful face.”

“And I’m…” but he didn’t want to say. “I’m Bodhi Rook. And I’ll forever be grateful if I always wake up to such a face,” he said with a smile, returning the play. But Cassian was frowning again.

“But you’re a Prince. I know your name. I’ve seen it before. In my village, they built a library, and the plaque outside reads: 'Donated by His Highness Prince Bodhi Rook.' It was the only place I was ever able to find comfort while I worked for the Baron."

The Prince blushed. He started playing with the frill sticking out from his cuff. He was going to get punched again. “Y-yes, that was me. I…I have a trite bit of a Robin Hood complex. Except I’m not stealing from anyone but myself. I try to find places to donate my money. I-I don’t think it’s right to have wealth and ignore the suffering of others. I was raised poor, and I-I know what it’s like to go without food and not have a family, and I don’t want anyone to ever feel like that. I want children to have an education and I want families to stay together. I don’t have enough time to do all that I want, but I try. I really do try. I’ve helped build some of the libraries, like the one in your village, and-and every Monday evening I volunteer to help prepare and pass out food at one of the boy’s homes, the one I grew up in, and I-“  
  
Cassian had managed to stop the Prince’s mouth by clamping his over top. The Prince, at first shocked, soon melted at the soft touch of their lips. They kissed, sweetly, before parting, their fingers now lacing together as their foreheads touched lightly.

“You are a Prince indeed, Bodhi Rook.” Cassian brought one of the Prince’s hands up to his mouth and gently kissed the top.

“If you greet a Prince by delivering a full fist to his nose, I’d hate to see what you’d do to a king.” They both grinned before their mouths met once more, hands now daring to intensify the kiss with their wandering. The Prince pulled away suddenly, looking into Cassian’s eyes with a different burning passion.

“Maybe we can start by greeting the Baron first? Together?” Cassian ran a finger down the Prince’s face, tucking a stray lock behind his ear.

“Together.”

They kissed again, briefly, before standing together, determined, ready to start their rebellion.

**Author's Note:**

> I'd be lying if I said I wasn't inspired by colettebronte's "The Captain and the Restored Heir."


End file.
